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The Underworld Crime Syndicate
PROLOGUE: The Theelin Diplomat It had been some time since the fifth civil war of Neimodia. At the end of 40 BBY, the viceroy of the Trade Federation, Banú Azami, had started a coo to overthrow the democratic government that controlled all of Neimodia’s exports. The civil war that ensued – albeit a short, but bloody conflict – left tremors across the outer-rim territories. Major crime syndicates had dispatched their many spies to infiltrate the greedy members of the Trade Federation, hoping to take a slice of Neimodia’s wealth to further their own self-interests. At the height of the conflict, the Republic had sent out a diplomat to speak with Banú Azami. He stepped out onto the landing platform as the thick, white smog rolled in from all around, seeping between the skyscrapers that formed Coruscant’s upper-class skyline. A Theelin – a rather endangered species of humanoid with horns protruding from the skull – the diplomat was loyal to Chancellor Velorum, the leader of the Republic who had given him the assignment. It was strictly off the records, and the senate hadn’t been informed. His violet robe swayed in the wind as he held his arms together behind his back. “I hope you trust me on this, Rakán,” Velorum said in his politically correct, scripted voice. The Theelin sighed. “It’s not a matter of trust, more so a matter of returning in one piece. I don’t want to be executed by the Neimoidians because of a misunderstanding.” He smiled, the wrinkles of his cheeks straightening out. “You will be protected.” “Oh? And who will be ‘protecting’ me?” A pair of black, heavy, heeled boots clapped together as the two spoke. Rakán turned around and gazed upon the owner of the unique, glossy-black footwear. A tall, lithe, human female stood stock still, her voluptuous body concealed beneath a tight, silver cloak. Her long, blonde hair was combed back across her ears, a thick fringe covering most of her forehead. She was pretty, as far as her kind went. In truth he had no interest in them, despite the evolutionary similarities their races shared. “Allow me to introduce Arry, she will be your bodyguard throughout the journey,” Velorum explained. “Bodyguard?” The unnaturally attractive blonde stepped forward and bowed her head. “Greetings, senator.” He replied. “Is this a joke? How can a dame possibly keep me safe from a gang of greedy Neimoidians out for blood? The moment they see an inferior being - ” “My experience is second-to-none, senator," she interrupted him mid-sentence, "and I’d appreciate it if you had a little faith in my...abilities.” “…Faith?” Velorum gulped. The tension was clearly rising to an unhealthy level. He changed the subject. “Captain Tarrya is ready for you, Rakán.” A Torgrutan pilot wearing a rather poor, simple cloak appeared, holding her hands on her hips. Her blue and orange headtails fluttered in the breeze as she waited impatiently for the diplomat - and his unwanted bodyguard - to board the shuttlecraft.